


Torchwick and Neopolitan Are Dead

by knightofsuperior



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big Bang Challenge, Gen, Other, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofsuperior/pseuds/knightofsuperior
Summary: Roman Torchwick has seen it all. Adventure, action, romance, and even the inside of a Grimm (trust him, they’re not pretty). His life, from his early days as a two-bit thug on the streets of Vale to his short-lived career as an Atlesian Airship pilot, is like something out of a Spruce Willis movie.In fact, that’s just what he wants it to become.Having survived the Fall of Beacon with a smattering of mooks and the lovely Neopolitan at his side, Torchwick decides to pay a visit to Moe Valentine (the head of the Vale Cinema Corporation) in order to spin a tale of daring entrepreneurs besieged by the guard dogs of a dying regime, a mysterious figure running a country-wide puppet show, and a desperate attempt to survive what could very well be the end of the world.And if he gets to set the record straight about a few misconceptions about his life along the way, where’s the harm in that?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic made for the RWBY Big Bang project, which is a fantastic collection of fics and art that you all should give a look at ASAP. 
> 
> This is both a parody and an in-universe AU of the first three volumes of RWBY. Any and all OOC characterizations are (for the most part) intentional. Due to life getting in the way, Act 3 is currently in its final phases, but I at least wanted what I had up in time for the deadline.
> 
> Many thanks to the-queen-of-sprinkles and livthekitten for listening to me ramble and being my impromptu betas on the fic!

Moe Valentine wasn’t in a good mood. He never was. When you ran Vale’s top film studio (the aptly named VCC, or Vale Cinema Corporation) the very concept of a good mood was nonexistent. But now, it was worse than ever before. The CCT was down, destroyed during the fall of Beacon. Hell, Beacon FELL. It was supposed to be the safest place in Vale this side of the Council, and it went down like a cut tree. The whole damn continent was in a panic. No one could go home (or even call home).

And yet, despite all of this, there was one thing that stuck out to him the most throughout all of this tragedy and terror.

**_NO ONE WAS GOING TO SEE HIS MOVIES._ **

Everyone in Vale was too terrified to even step out of their homes, and no one from outside the kingdom was coming in. Sales were plummeting. It was ridiculous! Movies are the perfect form of escapism for this kind of thing, but the only tickets being bought were from Patch (the backwater place always seemed to be steadfast customers, which Valentine appreciated, but he needed far more than that). VCC was sinking faster than a ship trying to duel a Leviathan. He had to do something to fill those seats. If he didn’t, it’d be his on the chopping block. He really didn’t have too many years left in him as it was, so he wanted to keep every single one he had.

A cold wind blew outside of the man’s window, bits and pieces of debris from the Battle of Beacon still littering the air. He glanced out, spotting his faded reflection in the windowpane. He frowned as he examined his features. His scraggly red hair, once shining in his youth, was starting to lose its luster; as he ran a finger through its rusty curls, Valentine wondered if he should just bite the bullet and dye it some other color. Silver maybe? Who knows, the cinematic magnate thought. He was getting too old to worry about his hair.

His face, on the other hand, needed some improvements, stat. Valentine’s eyes were a cold blue, a stark contrast to his hair (“Thank you, genetics,” he muttered) and his skin was tanned-and that’s about where what he liked about his features came to a halt. Everything else was just so…old. His face had wrinkles and creases, and it was starting to give his bronzed skin the appearance of aged leather (which looked great on jackets, but not so much on people).

His gaze flickered to the rest of his body. His stocky build was still fairly well maintained, but the old three-piece suit he sported had seen far better days. He’d somehow lost a couple of inches in height over the years, bringing him to a solid five-foot-six. The suit looked both too baggy and too tattered to be usable, and yet he kept it on day after day. Why wouldn’t he? He paid for the thing, might as well use it.

Valentine leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the painted mural that sprawled across the office ceiling. It wasn’t anything too fancy, just a portrait of himself as a young man, fighting off a pack of Grimm with naught but a film camera. People always laughed and figured it was done as some kind of joke, or a bit of egotism in his earlier years, and they weren’t _entirely_ wrong. Just mostly. Valentine saw himself as a different kind of Hunter than those violent protectors of Vale’s peace; rather, he made it his mission to hunt a game far bigger than Grimm: the hearts and minds of the country’s people. If careers were semblances, entertainment would be the most powerful of them all, he always said. He remembered when he said it, actually. It was a good twenty years ago, on a dark and stormy-

_KNOCK KNOCK._

Valentine scowled. He told Clarice to not let anyone in the building during his “reminiscing hour.” Either she didn’t get the memo, or she had a far more confident stance on her job security than he did.

“Office’s closed!” He called out.

“Don’t worry!” A cheery voice called back. The words gave Valentine pause. “Don’t worry” was a phrase that pretty much everyone in the movie industry said right before something worrying happened. With the slightest hint of a rasp, the voice continued, “It’s just housekeeping!”

Valentine leaned forward, his chair following suit with an audible squeak, and frowned.

“Weren’t you just in here earlier today?”

There was a pause. “…we were?” the voice asked, a bit of surprise to his tone.

“Yeah,” Valentine replied, fishing around in one of his pockets. He dug out a receipt. “Grimm-B-Gone Cleaners, right? You guys just showed up at five-something.”

“Oh! Oh, sir, I’m so sorry,” the voice answered, though Valentine could swear he heard a few more mutters and whispers from outside the door. “I’m afraid you might have been scammed! We set our appointment with your secretary…what’s her name?”

Valentine got up from his chair, sliding past his desk and towards the door. “I ain’t sure that’s much of your business,” he replied as he carefully walked towards the door. “Now, are you gonna make things easier on me and just back off, or am I gonna have to call up security to escort you out of here?”

The voice laughed, and this time Valentine for sure heard more voices laughing along with him, before being silenced by the sound of glass shattering.

Valentine quickly reached for the door knob, running his finger under the cold metal until it hit a small button. “Listen, assholes, I don’t know how you got in here or what you want, but as soon as my boys get here, I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about. I’d suggest you scram before- “The laughter came back, this time even louder. Valentine slammed his hand on the door frame. “The hell’s so funny?!”

“I’m amazed,” the voice said between giggle fits, “that you can still talk with that concussion!”

Valentine blinked. “Concussion? What- “

Everything went black.

_____

Valentine’s eyes burst open, his vision darting across the room as a dull throbbing pain resounded inside his skull. He didn’t know what just happened, but the who-what-when-where-why of it all didn’t matter right now. Well, the first two parts did. Whatever just hit him can’t have gotten far, he reasoned; after all, there’s only one door in the room, and that’s…

…not where the door was, the man realized. That was a wall.

And it was one ugly wall.

It was that kind of beige you see on the worst-looking couches imaginable. It was bland, like someone had tossed the color yellow into a microwave and forgot about it for a decade. Valentine wouldn’t have been caught dead having that color in his office.

“…but,” he muttered, “This isn’t my office, is it?”

A slow clap echoed throughout the room, filtering in from behind. Valentine wheeled around, immediately regretting his decision when the dull pain turned into something more like…whatever the pain equivalent of an obnoxiously loud rave was. He couldn’t be bothered to classify it properly, considering the circumstances. At the other end of the room (which was fairly empty, save a few chairs and a desk) stood a man in a tattered white suit with torn-up slacks.

His face was scuffed, marred with an assortment of tiny nicks and scrapes. A very noticeable scar (hell, it almost looked like bite marks) laid at the exact spot where the figure’s mop of orange-red hair met his forehead. His face and chin were covered in a layer of stubble-not enough to be called a beard, but enough that he could scratch it with his left hand. In his right hand he held a cane, tapping it into the ground as he grinned at Valentine (though the stick’s integrity, given the amount of tape that had been affixed to it, was suspect at best).

“Bravo, Mr. Valentine,” the man said, in a familiarly cheery tone. “You’ve accomplished something I thought impossible: actually waking up lucid after receiving severe head trauma. Seriously, take your bragging rights; they’re well deserved.”

Valentine took a step back, towards that hideous wall. “Who are you?”

“Oh, don’t tell me people have forgotten this mug of mine already!” The man rubbed his chin. “Maybe it’s the beard.” He craned his head to the side, slightly over his shoulder and out the door behind him. “You think it’s the beard?” No response. The man turned back to Valentine. “It’s probably something else then. Maybe the scar?” He tapped his finger against his temple. “I know I’m missing something…oh, right!” He snapped his fingers. “Neo, if you would!”

Valentine felt a sharp gust of wind breeze (no, breeze wasn’t the right word, it was more along the lines of “buffet” or “whoosh”) by his head, a flash of black and red spinning into view. It bounced off one wall of the room, zooming towards the man at the other end. The man reached out to the…wait a tick.

Was that a goddamn hat?!

The man grabbed the hat mid-spin, giving it a little twirl of his own before tossing it up into the air. It landed on his head with a slight…fwoomf? _I really need to expand my vocabulary,_ Valentine mused to himself.

“And it sticks the landing!” The man grinned at Valentine. “How about now, Mr. Show-biz?”

Valentine gawked for a moment.

The man stood, tapping his foot impatiently. “…really? **Really?** ”

Valentine gulped. “Uh…you’re…you’re a fashion model?”

The man groaned as he stormed over to Valentine, mumbling under his breath as he reached into his jacket. Valentine tensed, taking a step back. “Oh, calm down,” the man groused. “If I wanted you dead, I would’ve had Neo hit you with the sharp end.”

Valentine blinked. “Who and what now?”

“Doesn’t matter yet. Just…look.” The man pulled out a flyer (with a bright red “WANTED” slapped to the top). It showed…well, it looked like the guy, but looking a lot less like he got run over by a truck. Valentine’s eyes scanned the photo, flickering down to the words underneath:

Roman Torchwick.

“…is…that supposed to mean anything to me?” Valentine asked, cautiously.

“Oh, for **_fuck’s_ ** sake!” Torchwick (at least, Valentine presumed) moaned. “What kind of rock have you been living under, Valentine?! I thought you media types were supposed to have their fingers in everything! How have you **_not_ ** heard of me before?!”

“W-well, our news division is run out of Atlas, and we kind of- “

Torchwick cut him off with a scoff, turning around as he crossed his arms. “Excuses, excuses! And to think, I was going to make you millions.” He shrugged dramatically, extending his arms wide. “But, how can I expect anyone to properly tell my story if they don’t even know the first thing about me?”

Valentine opened his mouth to speak, then paused. “…hold up. What’s this about millions?” The mogul swore he could see the weirdo’s face scrunch up in what he could only assume was some kind of grin.

“I’m so very glad you asked!” Torchwick snapped his fingers. Thundering footsteps approached the room. Valentine could barely make out the black suits over Torchwick’s shoulder, but he didn’t need to for long. The suits swarmed the room, one pushing Valentine back without a word.

“Hey, watch it, kid!” Valentine said, looking up to see sunglass-covered eyes. “What’s that for?!”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man drawled. “Just don’t wanna stab your foot with the table.”

Valentine blinked. “What table?” The man pointed with his thumb towards the door as Torchwick made way. A group of the mooks were bringing in a set of large, thin tables (large enough to warrant at least six of them per piece), while others waited patiently with chairs and coolers as the table-pushers tried to squeeze it in. Valentine could hear some scattered comments (“What’s the holdup?” “I think a corner’s stuck!” “Guys, this ice is gonna melt if we don’t get it in there.” “Push with your arms, not your legs!”) before the first table finally cleared the doorway. The others quickly followed, as did at least twenty more expressionless minions.

Valentine glanced over to Torchwick.

“What’s this all about? What’re you up to?”

Torchwick shook his head. “Look, Mr. Valentine, I assure you-this is all for _your_ benefit.”

“Pardon?”

“Do I look like a warden to you?” Torchwick asked. Valentine stared at the man, who put a hand on his forehead. “Good lord. I thought people in your industry had a sense of humor.”

“I think I lost it when you tried to bash my head in.”

“See, that’s more like it,” Torchwick said with a chuckle. “And besides, that wasn’t me. It was Neo.”

“You say that name like I’m supposed to know who it is.”

Torchwick laughed again. “Well, you should! She’s been right behind you this whole time!”

Valentine turned around with a startled gasp, only to find nothing there. “What kind of idiot,” he began turning back to face the showboat, “do you take me f- “A pair of mismatched eyes bored into Valentine’s soul before he could finish his sentence. A young girl stood before him, dressed up in a gaudy pink and black ensemble, accented by a lacey parasol. “…hi?” Valentine mustered. The girl glared at him and turned away, proceeding to walk towards a chair at the far end of the tables.

“Looks like they’re just about done,” Torchwick mused, following in Neo’s direction. “Try to keep up, Valentine; we saved the best seat just for you, after all.” Valentine cautiously trailed Torchwick, trying not to make eye contact with any of the gangsters he passed by. Torchwick sat down next to Neo, who had made herself comfortable by propping her feet up on the table. She leaned back in her chair as Valentine passed by, banging the back of it right into his side. Valentine grit his teeth as a new pain coursed through his body-nothing as bad as his headache, but still noticeable enough. She smirked as he hobbled to the chair at the front of the table, which had been handily labeled “M.V.”

An instant after Valentine sat down, one of the faceless was next to him. “You want a drink, sir?”

“…uh…what’ve…” He couldn’t believe he was playing along. “What’ve you got?”

“Water, Orange Juice, Wine, Soda…you name it.”

“…I…think water’s gonna do fine.”

“You got it.” He signaled a mook at a nearby cooler, who dug in and grabbed out a bottle of Forever Fall Spring Water. The Waiter (Valentine had to distinguish them somehow) held out his hand as the Cooler tossed the bottle towards them. The Waiter caught it, opened it, and plopped it down in front of Valentine. “Here you go.”

“…thanks?”

“Sure.”

Valentine stared at the water for a moment, hearing the shuffling of chairs as he tried to process his situation. This was just too damn weird. What did this lunatic have planned? He looked back to his captor. “You still haven’t told me what the hell’s going on, Torchwick.”

“But I did!” Torchwick insisted. He dug into his jacket once more, pulling out what looked like a binder. He placed it on the table and slid it over to Valentine. “It’s about my story.” Valentine looked down at the binder for a moment before opening it up. A very familiar format leaped out to him on the following page: Three lines in the middle, and a couple smaller ones in the lower left. The middle lines were in bright, obvious font:

 

**Like A Candle in the Dark**

**R. Torchwick**

**2** **nd** **Draft**

 

Valentine looked up from the page. “…you kidnapped me.”

“Yes.” Torchwick replied.

“You gave me a concussion.”

“Obviously not, but go on.”

“You gave me head trauma, then, I don’t care!” Valentine shouted, his hands curling up into fists. “You did all of this…so you could pitch a goddamn movie?!”

Torchwick wagged his finger at Valentine. “You really should watch your blood pressure. You’re no spring chicken anymore.”

“You little- “

“And yes,” Torchwick conceded, “that is technically the case here. But, this is no ordinary movie. This is the true story of a man beaten down by the world he wishes to call home. This is the tale of a young boy, raised in the slums of Vale, a boy who stole food to live, hoping for a brighter tomorrow.” Torchwick’s face grew more animated as he spoke. “This is the story of a man who some called a criminal, a terrorist, a stain on society,” he continued, as Valentine felt his heart begin to stop. Just who was this guy? “This is the story of a rebellion against a corrupt government, of a fight against the hounds of the military, and a fight to free a country-no, a world!”

Torchwick let out a sigh. “It’s also the story of mistakes made, and of tragedies beyond measure. Sinister machinations from trusted allies. Friend and enemy alike walking the path of violence and hatred. This story isn’t just of my life, Valentine.” Torchwick’s eyes grew steely cold. “This is the story of my death.”

Valentine’s eyes went wide. “…ok,” he muttered, running his hand over the script’s paper, fingers pinching the bottom right corner. “You have my attention.”

Torchwick smiled-not a grin, not a smirk, but a smile. Valentine found that far more frightening. “Good. I’d like to keep it.” The minions all took out similar-looking binders, opening them up as Torchwick continued. “I think it’s about time I properly introduce myself.” Torchwick held a hand to his heart, his other going to the binder. “My name is Roman Torchwick. I’ve been a thief, a pilot, an entrepreneur, and Grimm chow.

And this is my story.”

 -----

_EXT. VALE SLUMS – DAY_

_Fade in on a grimy trashcan in a dimly lit alleyway. The can is overflowing with garbage, pus festering as it-_

 

“Hold.”

Torchwick paused. “…really, Valentine? Two seconds in?”

“You open on literal garbage!” Valentine replied, a grimace on his face. “Why would you open your ‘life’s story’ on something that implies this whole thing is gonna be trash?!”

Torchwick’s goons glanced nervously at each other as the man’s fist clenched. Had this conversation happened before, Valentine wondered. Through gritted teeth, Torchwick replied, “It’s a metaphor for the excess and vice of the people of Vale, overflowing until- “He breathed out. “Look. You’ll find out soon enough,” he continued, glaring at the others in the room. “Just like everyone else did, right?”

There was an uneasy silence.

“ ** _Right?"_**

A multitude voices piped up at once.

“Oh, absolutely, boss!”

“You know it!”

“It’s so poignant, y’know?”

“It really brings the theme of the script out in a concise but meaningful manner.”

Torchwick smirked at Valentine. “May I continue?” Valentine nodded, giving a side-eye to Neo, who offered a shrug in return. Torchwick either didn’t notice or didn’t make note of it as he dramatically cleared his throat. “Now, then- “

_EXT. VALE SLUMS – DAY_

_Fade in on a grimy trashcan in a dimly lit alleyway. The can is overflowing with garbage, pus festering on half-eaten sandwiches and food wrappers as it rattles in the wind. We close in on it as a NARRATOR speaks._

 

“Hold. Voiceover? Really?”

“Are you **_always_ ** this chatty during pitches, Valentine?”

“You said it’s a table read.”

“Tomato, toshutupandlistenformorethanhalfapage.”

“Sure, sure. Don’t listen to the head of a movie company. Go ahead.”

“Thank you. Ahem- “

_NARRATOR_

_(V.O.)_

_The world is not just. Power and money are the name of the game, and in Vale, he who has both is king. But, as all know, kings are not gods. They are but mortals. There are but three things certain about those pitiful creatures. Birth, death…and whatever’s in-between._

 

_A young boy, Roman Torchwick (8 years old, mop of unruly hair, tattered clothes) rushes past the can, followed swiftly by three others._

 

_BOY 1_

_GET BACK HERE!_

_Roman runs through the alleyway at top speed, his breathing ragged as he jumps over a variety of obstacles in his path. He makes it to the other end of the alleyway, looking back as the other kids follow._

 

_BOY 2_

_You ain’t gettin’ away this time, Torchy!_

 

_BOY 3_

_Yeah, Romie! Your wallet ain’t empty just yet!_

 

_Roman glances around, his eyes darting from side to side in search of an escape. Finally, he sees it-a taxi, speeding by. He moves his hand to the side-not to the sky, as if to hail the vehicle, but to the side. As the boys make it to his spot, he smirks as the taxi passes. His hand grips the backseat door handle, causing it to fly out as the car speeds off-_

 

“Fucking hold!”

“Oh, come off it, Valentine,” Torchwick groaned, “Don’t you like anything so far? Even a bit?”

“Yeah, actually!” Torchwick blinked, a rare moment of confusion, as he looked over at Valentine, who waved the script around as he spoke. “The speech was pretty good, and the chase is a nice, thrilling intro. But the taxi? That’s bullshit. The kid’s arm would fly off faster than the door would open!”

Torchwick opened his mouth, presumably to argue, Valentine assumed. The man paused, closing his jaw as he put a finger on his chin. “That’s…actually a good point.” He leaned to the side of his chair, drawing out the cane from earlier. The taped-up stick looked even less stable up close, Valentine realized, and it looked like it would explode at any second. This didn’t do any favors for the mogul’s heartrate as Torchwick pointed the cane at one of the goons at the other end of the table. “You. Were. Supposed. To. Catch. That.” Torchwick intoned, emphasizing each word with a shake of the cane.

The henchman stammered. “I-I’m sorry, boss! I thought it made sense! Y’see, given his height and weight, and the relative speed of the car- “The poor sap’s eyes went wide (as did Valentine’s) when the cane opened up at the end, revealing a reticle and a seemingly-empty chamber. “D-didn’t you say that’s what happened!?”

“Yes, yes I did,” Torchwick replied. “I also said that if something seems like it won’t make cinematic sense, the script doctor should take care of it. Isn’t that right, Doc?”

“Doc” let out some noises that sounded like “Oh, God, please no.”

Torchwick lowered the cane. “But, I suppose that not all blame falls on you in this case.” He glared over at Neo, who had taken to admiring the ceiling and whistling a suspiciously not-suspicious tune. “Wasn’t someone supposed to oversee the rewrites, Neo?” The girl shrugged, absentmindedly twirling her parasol (which Valentine now realized had more holes in it than the first three paragraphs of the script thus far).

Torchwick sighed. “Nevermind. We’ll fix it in post, as they say.”

Valentine snorted. “Post comes after the scriptwriting phase, you know.”

“Who’dve thought,” Torchwick muttered. Valentine smirked, but soon let out a yelp as Neo’s parasol jabbed into the top of his foot. He could almost hear Torchwick’s smarmy grin. “Back to work. Now, then- “

_-the car speeds off. Roman swings into the car, landing on a seat as the door slams shut._

 

_INT. TAXI CAB - NIGHT_

 

_NORM_

_(O.S.)_

_So, Roman-_

 

_NORMAN (Old, like 50s, black hair and scraggly beard, taxi cap) looks ahead as he drives._

 

_NORM_

_-who’d you piss off this time?_

 

_ROMAN_

_I didn’t piss off no one. They pissed off me._

 

_NORM_

_Right, o’course. Where d’ya want to be dropped off?_

 

_ROMAN_

_I don’t._

 

_NORM_

_C’mon now, Roman-_

 

_Norman turns a corner, parking in front of a small, homely diner._

 

_NORM_

_Y’can’t just run from your problems forever._

 

_ROMAN_

_I don’t got no problems._

 

_Norm turns to look at Roman._

 

_NORM_

_Romie, everyone has problems. You don’t see me running from the wife, d’you?_

 

_ROMAN_

_…you have a wife?_

 

_Norman sighs._

 

_NORMAN_

_Look, that’s not the point. I know those kids bully you, but you gotta be the better man._

 

_He puts a hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman looks to the hand, then to him._

 

_NORMAN_

_You have to rise above the filth of the world. Be someone great. Then, no one’ll want to mess with ye._

 

_Roman nods, amazed at the sage advice of this humble taxi driver, who simply smiles back._

 

“…really. A taxi driver.”

“Yes.”

Valentine raised an eyebrow. “A humble taxi driver taught you to be a better person…than kids who assault other kids for fun. That’s what made you learn?”

Torchwick shrugged. “Well, maybe I took some creative liberties with the specifics. But, hey, every great rags-to-riches movie has to have a mentor character!”

Valentine shrugged. “Ok, fair enough.”

“Besides, this is his only scene, so you don’t have to worry about him for long.”

“…wait, wh- “

_Suddenly, the front of the car is smashed completely inwards, crushing Norman as a terrified Roman shrieks in frightened horror. Roman scrambles out of the car as he sees a gigantic Grimm plowing through the city streets, followed by a pack of Hunters and Huntresses. One, Cruella Faet (35, green-eyed, blonde hair, flowing robe, small pair of spectacles, crop), stops in front of Roman._

 

_CRUELLA_

_What happened, kid?_

 

_ROMAN_

_(between tears)_

_T-the monster-the monster killed-_

 

_CRUELLA_

_I don’t wanna hear your life story, kid, just tell me where the “monster” went._

 

_Cruella raises a rapier up high._

 

_CRUELLA_

_That way, I can squish it harder than it did that car. No one was in there, right?_

 

_Roman begins to bawl, causing Cruella to roll her eyes._

 

_CRUELLA_

_Kids. Beat it, shortstuff, the adults got real work to do, alright?_

 

_Cruella cuts a hole in the air with her rapier, stepping through it and vanishing._

 

Valentine held up his hand. Roman sighed, then waved him ahead.

“She can cut through space.”

“Yes.”

“Her name’s Cruella Faet.”

“Two for two.”

“She conveniently was a raging asshole to you when you were in shock.”

“And that’s a triple-play!”

Valentine sighed. “True story?” he asked, mockingly.

Roman grinned. “Based on a true story.”

“…continue.”

_Roman falls to his knees as Cruella disappears. Clenching his fist, he slams it into the ground._

 

_ROMAN_

_All of you…all of you are the real monsters! Bullies, hunters, Grimm-everything in this world is a monster, just taking away more and more!_

 

_Roman screams in agony towards the ground, a steeled determination in his eye._

 

_ROMAN_

_I swear…I swear, I’ll be the better man, Norm. I’ll be better than them. Better than all of them!_

 

_Roman clenches his fist._

 

_ROMAN_

_The powerful think they can just…just take everything from me?!_

 

_He slams his hand into the ground._

 

_ROMAN_

_Like hell they can!_

 

_Fade out as Roman sobs one final time._

 

_ROMAN_

_(quietly)_

_Like hell they can…_

 

_Title card._

 

_EXT. VALE – NIGHT- YEARS LATER_

_Fade in on ROMAN (25, Dapper, Dashing, Daring) as he taps absentmindedly on a wall on an empty Vale sidewalk. Dressed to impress in his snazzy white suit and derby, Roman looks (and is) ready to take on the world._

 

_That is, if a certain someone would be on time for once._

 

_He taps on the wall harder, rapping his knuckles on the brick._

 

_ROMAN_

_C’mon, Junior, we’re burning moonlight…where the hell are you?_

 

_A car pulls around the corner, easing to a stop in front of Roman. It opens, revealing a man, JUNIOR (35, black vest, red tie, white shirt, bulky frame) with a large briefcase._

 

_ROMAN_

_Junior, the man of the hour! I knew you’d make it!_

 

_Junior grins, holding out the briefcase to Roman._

 

_JUNIOR_

_Well, I can’t miss the biggest day of your career! To think, my money is going to go to helping you start your very own dust refinery! No one’s ever tried to challenge the Schnees before!_

 

_A group of MOOKS (indeterminate age, red shades, look like rejects from the Dustfather) step out of Junior’s car._

 

_MOOK 1_

_Uh, boss, didn’t you try to compete with the-_

 

_Junior elbows the Mook, who doubles back._

 

_JUNIOR_

_We don’t talk about that anymore, remember?_

 

_MOOK 2_

_Boss, I think he just started yesterday._

 

_JUNIOR_

_…oh. Sorry._

 

_The first Mook coughs, but waves his hand._

 

_MOOK 1_

_(coughs)_

_No worries, boss, I worked for this one dame…I dunno, Ember something, but she was waaaaay worse than you could…_

 

_Roman watches amusedly as Junior glares at the Mook._

 

_MOOK 1_

_…I mean…she sucked._

 

_JUNIOR_

_…right, well, for the next 24 hours, you all work for Roman here. He needs some help moving all the dust from the shop if it all goes well-and if not, maybe you all can just go out for drinks, right?_

 

_MOOK 3_

_But boss, where would one go for such reverie and joy?_

 

_JUNIOR_

_I own a bar, numbskulls. Junior’s, the #1 spot this side of Vale, remember?_

 

_MOOK 4_

_(snaps fingers)_

_That’s right! Junior’s is the only place where we can get ice cold drinks, great entertainment, and low, low prices!_

 

_JUNIOR_

_(grins at the camera)_

_And that’s a guarantee._

 

Valentine had no words. He’d seen product placement before (hell, he’d written it before), but this was next-level bullshit. He looked at Roman, holding his hands out in the universal gesture for that ever-present phrase that rang through his thoughts: **_the fuck?!_ **

Torchwick sighed. “Look, this guy-he’s the one who lent me all these brain donors,” he explained, ignoring the indignant glare said donors gave him. “And he kind of helped me and Neo out by not turning us into the cops when he damn well could have. So I figured that the least I could do is give him a little promotion.”

“Torchwick, a little promotion is having someone crash into a bookstore during a fight scene,” Valentine countered. “This is a PSA.”

“Can I continue so we can get through this thing before we die of old age?” Torchwick asked. Valentine grumbled, but waved his hand. “Ok. Thank you. Now- “

_Roman shook his head._

 

_ROMAN_

_I’ll be sure to take you up on that, whatever ends up happening._

 

_He takes the briefcase from Junior. Junior snaps his fingers, and the Mooks pile behind Roman._

 

_JUNIOR_

_Now go out there and make history!_

 

_ROMAN_

_Nothing less!_

 

_Roman turns, walking with the Mooks down the street towards-_

 

_INT. DUST SHOP – NIGHT_

 

_-a dust shop, staffed by a singular old man, appropriately named OLDMAN (70something, grey hairs where it’s not bald, decrepit). Roman approaches the old man._

 

_ROMAN_

_Mr. Oldman!_

 

_Oldman glances up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the group._

 

_OLDMAN_

_Why, if it isn’t Romie Torchwick! What brings you here at this time of night?_

 

_ROMAN_

_Mr. Oldman, I think I’ve got the cure for that back of yours, and a nice little vacation to Vacuo, all wrapped up nicely-_

 

_He places the briefcase down on the table._

 

_ROMAN_

_-in this little case right here._

 

_Oldman looks surprised, glancing to Torchwick._

 

_OLDMAN_

_Romie, you don’t mean-_

 

_Roman opens up the briefcase-thousands upon thousands of lien._

 

_ROMAN_

_It took a while and a lot of networking, but I can finally pay you back for that part time job from when I was fifteen._

 

Valentine snickered. "You were a soda jerk?"

Torchwick gaped at his terminology. "...how old are you?"

"None of your beeswax."

"...right."

 

_OLDMAN_

_L-li’l Romie…_

 

_Oldman looks close to tears. He wipes his eyes, looking around._

 

_OLDMAN_

_This is no time for the shop to be open. Boys, we’re going to celebrate my early retirement!_

 

_He picks up the briefcase._

 

_OLDMAN_

_How’s Junior’s sound? On me!_

 

_Everyone laughs heartily. One of the Mooks looks over Oldman’s shoulder._

 

_MOOK 5_

_Hey, Mister, should that kid be in here?_

 

_The group looks over. A young girl, LITTLE RED (14, maybe, big red hood, black hair, silver eyes, giant scythe/gun hybrid) is listening to music and reading a magazine._

 

_OLDMAN_

_(O.S.)_

_Oh, she must not realize how late it is._

 

_He looks over at the Mook._

 

_OLDMAN_

_Could you be a gentleman and help her out of the store before I lock up?_

 

_MOOK 5_

_Sure thing!_

 

_The Mook walks past the group, going up to the girl. We see a bit of the conversation from a distance._

 

_ROMAN_

_Kids shouldn’t be wandering Vale late at night, you know. It could be-_

 

**_BANG!_ **

 

_Roman’s eyes widen as the Mook suddenly comes soaring past the group._

 

_MOOK 5_

_SWEET MOTHER OF-_

 

**_CRASH!_ **

 

_A cloud of smoke erupts as the Mook hits the wall. Roman glances back over at the girl, who sports a manic grin._

 

_ROMAN_

_…dangerous._

 

_The girl laughs, a sinister, evil laugh…that only a prepubescent teenager could make. Roman holds out his hands._

 

_ROMAN_

_We don’t want any trouble, kid. We’re just here on business. You gotta be careful, you know-_

 

_The girl tilts her head, as if contemplating the comments._

 

_ROMAN_

_What you do as a teen defines what you do for the rest of your-_

 

_RED_

_Yeah, don’t care. I just felt like beating people up._

 

_Roman gasps in horror._

 

_ROMAN_

_You can’t be that cruel! Not at such a young age!_

 

_The girl smirks._

 

_RED_

_Guess again, old-timer._

 

_Roman raises an eyebrow._

 

_ROMAN_

_…kid, I’m like twenty-_

 

_Red aims her weapon, the barrel pointing right at Roman._

 

_ROMAN_

_-freaking hell,_ **_duck!_ **

 

_The group ducks down as a shot zips past them. Red dashes towards the group, slashing at them with the scythe end of her weapon. Roman reaches into his coat, quickly pulling out a cane and blocking the scythe._

 

_ROMAN_

_Kid, calm down! None of us want to fight you!_

 

_RED_

_Good! That makes this easier!_

 

_Red and Roman jump back from each other, as one of the Mooks tries to sneak up on Red. The Mook gets scythe-smacked for his trouble. Red aims her weapon at Torchwick, who grimaces as he holds up his cane._

 

_ROMAN_

_I didn’t want to do this…but if you want to dance, Red, then please-_

 

_The tip of his cane opens up to reveal a barrel and a reticle._

 

_ROMAN_

_-allow me to take the lead._

 

_The two fire their weapons at the same time, the blasts colliding in mid-air. The two charge at each other, cane and scythe clashing in a flurry of blows. The mooks jump out of the way as the two take their battle into-_

 

_INT. STREET – NIGHT_

 

_-a desolated street. Roman ducks and weaves past Red’s rifle fire, and tries to sweep her legs with his cane. She blocks the cane, using her rifle blast to propel her towards a set of rooftops. She aims again, firing at Torchwick and rocketing upwards in the process._

 

_Roman narrowly avoids the blasts, coughing as the smoke engulfs the area. Dashing through the smoke, he hops up onto a series of awnings and bounces himself onto the nearest rooftop. His eyes dart around for any sign of Red._

_ROMAN_

_Careful with that gun, kid! You could get hurt pulling stunts like this!_

 

_RED_

_(O.S.)_

_I’m not the one you should be worried about._

 

_Roman sees a flash of red and ducks down, his hat getting caught by Red’s surprise attack. He scrambles to his feet, taking a few steps back before bumping into something-or rather, someone. He wheels around, his eyes widening in horror and his face twisting in recognition._

 

_ROMAN_

_No…no, it can’t be!_

 

_In front of him is the Huntress who presided over the worst day of his life, the tragic death of his best friend in the world, Norm._

 

“Best friend? Really?”

“Shut it. This is the good part.”

 

_Cruella Faet steps forward, dressed in a white gown with a black corset and a black/purple cape, her striking blonde hair and green eyes as obvious as ever._

 

_ROMAN_

_You-_

 

_He clenches his fists._

 

_ROMAN_

**_You-_ **

 

_Cruella smirks, crossing her arms._

 

_CRUELLA_

_I have a name, you know._

 

“…but he doesn’t know it.”

“SHHHHH. We're getting to that!”

 

_CRUELLA_

_For the record, while some know me as Cruella Faet-_

 

"Who, though?"

"SHUT IT."

 

_She smirks._

 

_CRUELLA_

_It’s actually Glynda Goodwitch._

 

“…I’m sorry, what? Did I miss a scene or something?” Valentine asked, bewildered. “Who the hell is Glynda Goodwitch?”

Everyone in the room stared at him, Torchwick holding the sharpest gaze. “…you can’t be serious,” he said, a look of utter disappointment in his eyes. “The foreshadowing was right there. What other famous blonde huntresses with gaudy capes do you know?” Valentine raised an eyebrow. “You…don’t know who she is,” Torchwich realized. “You didn’t know who I was. I bet you can’t even tell who Red is.” Valentine blinked. “…oh, come on,” Torchwick groaned. “How big of a rock do you live under, Valentine? Don’t you even get your own news stations?!”

“…so, anyway, Glynda Goodwitch. Woo, twist,” Valentine mumbled, flipping the next page on his script as Torchwick glared daggers. “What’s next?”

_Roman clutches his heart in shock._

 

“You mean his chest.”

“AHEM.”

_ROMAN_

_It’s been twenty years. Twenty years since you ruined my life!_

 

_CRUELLA_

_I’ve heard that I ruin a lot of lives, you’re going to have to clarify a bit._

 

_ROMAN_

_You know what I mean! Hundreds died! The city was wrecked!_

 

_CRUELLA_

_Maybe I should rephrase that-you’re going to have to clarify why I should care._

 

_Red rushes up behind her._

 

_RED_

_Aren’t you one of the head teachers at Beacon? The famous hunter academy?_

 

_CRUELLA_

_(grins)_

_Indeed, I am. Are you interested in joining our esteemed institution?_

 

_RED_

_You know it!_

 

_CRUELLA_

_Good…here’s your entrance exam._

 

_Her glasses shine with an evil glow._

 

_CRUELLA_

_Kill him where he stands. Then I might try to get you on the waitlist._

 

_Red reloads her gun._

 

_RED_

_Piece of cake._

 

_Roman reaches for his cane, but it gets blasted off out of his hands and off the roof before he can get to it. He scowls, glaring at the two._

 

_ROMAN_

_You’re all the same…. you get a taste of power, and you take it out on anyone you can find!_

 

_RED_

_Did he talk this much when you knew him, Miss Goodwitch?_

 

_CRUELLA_

_I don’t know. We never really met._

 

_She reaches into her cloak._

 

_CRUELLA_

_And I’m afraid we never will._

 

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_Well, aren’t we confident?_

 

_The three look around for the source of the voice._

 

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_Up here._

 

_Roman looks up, and his eyes widen. A massive airship descends from the clouds, its hatch open. A woman, CINDER FALL (age ???, red dress, long black hair, golden eyes) hangs onto one of the hatch railings._

 

_CINDER_

_It’s about time someone taught this professor a lesson!_

 

“Snrk.”

Torchwick glanced up at Valentine. “What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“…are you sure- “

“Yes, yes, yes. Go ahead.” Valentine stifled another laugh as Torchwick glared.

_Cinder reaches behind her, drawing out a bow and arrow. She draws back and fires a shot, the arrow splitting into multiple flaming projectiles. Cruella and Red jump back, Torchwick watching on as a circle is made around him. Arrows rain down, illuminating a flaming path that leads to the now near-docked airship._

 

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_Here, Roman, let me lend you a hand._

 

_Roman scrambles to his feet, darting down the flaming road. Cinder holds out a hand and grabs his arm, pulling him quickly into the airship._

 

_ROMAN_

_What about Junior’s men? Are they-_

 

_CINDER_

_Dead, I’m afraid._

 

_Roman’s eyes widen in shock._

 

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_That’s how these Huntresses work, Roman-_

 

_Cinder glares down as the airship begins to lift back up, watching Cruella aim her wand._

 

_CINDER_

_No one is spared when a Huntress comes to town._

 

_Cruella fires out a blast of energy from her wand. The airship’s hatch closes right before it can reach, but the ship is shaken by the force of the attack. It speeds away, high into the clouds, before Cruella can fire off another shot. Cruella and Red both glare at the fleeing ship, malice in their eyes._

 

_RED_

_Should we go after them?_

 

_CRUELLA_

_They’re not worth it. You’ve already proven your loyalty to the cause. Now…_

 

_Cruella smirks._

 

_CRUELLA_

_Let’s get you some real training, shall we?_

 

_INT. BULLHEAD – NIGHT_

_Roman gasps for breath, his eyes filled with panic._

 

_ROMAN_

_No. No, no. Oldman. The guys. Everyone. They can’t just be-_

 

_CINDER_

_I’m afraid there’s no denying it, Roman._

 

_Cinder saunters over, saunteringly._

 

“That’s not a word.”

“Who’s the scripty here?”

“That’s a term for script supervisor.”

“…the hell is a script supervisor? You talking about Neo?”

“…next line.”

_CINDER_

_You’ve seen firsthand what kind of atrocities they’re capable of._

_ROMAN_

_How do you know my name?_

_CINDER_

_I know everyone’s name. I also know everyone’s past. And…_

_She snaps her fingers. Lights come on, illuminating the airship. Various eyes land on Roman, many hidden behind animalistic masks. Two figures in particular, EMERALD (Green hair, dark skinned, neverending smirk) and MERCURY (Silver hair, pale, bored as default expression) walk up behind Cinder._

_CINDER_

_I know everyone’s future as well._

_ROMAN_

_...what kind of future?_

_CINDER_

_A future without Hunters. A future without murderers with a license to kill, a future tailor-made for the people and by the people of Vale, a future without cruelty and strife…_

_She chuckles, creating fire in her hand and playing with it like a children’s toy._

_CINDER_

_Oh, and without the Council, as well. We don’t need a bunch of crotchety elites deciding our fates, now do we, Roman?_

_Roman tenses at this._

_CINDER_

_What I’m about to offer you is very simple-it’s the choice between letting Oldman and your comrades’ deaths be in vain, or a chance to get back at this damned world and all who wish to suppress the people’s will._

_She gestures to the masked figures._

 

_CINDER_

_And trust me, many of our ranks know what suppression feels like firsthand._

_ROMAN_

_Those guys…are they-_

_CINDER_

_The infamous White Fang, Faunus terrorists, habitual Schnee Company visitors…they’re the ones, yes._

_Roman takes a step back. One of the masked men, ADAM (tall, dark suit, mask that looks like it should be on a rival in some sort of sci-fi robot cartoon), steps forward._

_ADAM_

_Human. Don’t think that we won’t hesitate to pay you back for your species’ worthless attempts on our lives tenfold._

_CINDER_

_Now, now, Adam, there’s no need to be rude to our guest._

_ADAM_

_I…apologize, Miss Fall. It’s just…_

_Adam licks his lips._

_ADAM_

_It’s just been so long…since I’ve had a good stab at something._

_CINDER_

_Control those urges, Adam. Don’t let them think you’re the monster they claim you are._

_ADAM_

_It doesn’t matter what they think of me…it matters what_ **_she_ ** _thinks of me._

_Cinder shakes her head as Adam walks away, glancing back at Roman._

_CINDER_

_You’ll have to forgive Adam. He’s a bit…antsy after one of his own decided to join those Hunters. Not that I can blame him._

 

_ROMAN_

_What does any of this have to do with me?_

 

_Cinder walks behind Roman, placing a hand on his shoulder._

 

_CINDER_

_You still haven’t realized? You, Roman Torchwick, are the epitome of what we stand for. Kind, just, good-hearted, strong, and determined to reach your goals no matter who or what stands in your way. We want you to be our voice, our face, our brain-_

 

_She leans in closely._

 

_CINDER_

_-our leader._

 

_Roman’s jaw goes slack as he processes this information._

 

_ROMAN_

_You…you want me to lead these people? But I’m just a simple dust vendor from the slums of Vale._

 

_CINDER_

_That’s what makes you perfect for the role. You know what it’s like to feel powerless. Do you want another Roman to lose another Norman?_

 

_Flashes of Roman’s past flood the screen. The bullies. The Grimm. The crushed cab._

 

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_You’ve lived that pain. Now, you have a chance to deal it back tenfold to those who truly deserve it._

 

_Roman snaps out of his reverie and glances back to Cinder, who now has her hand out._

 

_CINDER_

_Ready to make a difference, Roman?_

 

_Roman hesitates, glancing around the room at all those expectantly waiting on his answer. He sighs, and extends his hand with a kind smile._

 

_ROMAN_

_When do I start, Miss…?_

 

_CINDER_

_Fall, Roman._

 

_Cinder’s eyes gleam._

 

_CINDER_

_Cinder Fall._

 

_Cut to black._

_END ACT 1._


	2. Chapter 2

_START ACT 2._

_INT. ICE CREAM SHOP – DAY_

_Fade in on a bustling ice cream shop. The varied patrons are enjoying their frosted treats. A young woman, NEO (age unknown, split pink and black hair, parasol at her side)-_

 

“Age unknown?” Valentine raised an eyebrow. “You gotta stop with this shit, Torchwick. If you want an actor to play a character or for anyone to really get a read on what they look like, you gotta put descriptors in there.”

“Oh, sure,” Torchwick mused. “I know, why don’t you ask Neo what her age is?”

Valentine looked over to Neo, who had an innocent smile on her face…and her hand on her parasol. Torchwick chuckled. “Go ahead, Valentine. Anytime you’re ready. Off-topic, but you wouldn’t happen to have a last will and testament, would you?”

“…move on with the read, Torchwick.”

“Smart man.”

 

_-glances at all of the different ice cream options on the counter in front of her._

_CLERKE_

_You gonna pick something or what, lady?_

_Neo looks up at the clerk, spotting his name on a nametag: CLERKE (34, apron, giant banana split hat on his head). Clerke crosses his arms._

_CLERKE_

_Which one?_

_Neo points at a flavor-rocky road. Clerke grunts and turn to the sink behind him. As he cleans out a scoop, the front door makes a chiming noise. Clerke turns around as he speaks._

_CLERKE_

_Welcome to Chilly Concoctions, where the only thing cooler than our ice cream is the-_

_A group dressed in green suits stands before him, Neo, and the other customers. Clerke leans down to the ice cream counter._

_CLERKE_

_…customers. I can help you gentlemen right after I finish the lady’s-_

_A lady in a dashing green dress, MOOLAH (30, spiked green hair, green everything basically) laughs as she pushes through the rest of the group._

_MOOLAH_

_You can help us right now, actually. Just stay where you are and let us take care of a little…business._

_CLERKE_

_Business? You from corporate?_

_MOOLAH_

_No, no…_

_She reaches into her dress and pulls out a green gun._

_MOOLAH_

_We’re from the Greene Gang._

_Neo raises an eyebrow as Clerke takes a step back._

_CLERKE_

_No…not the Greene Gang! You’ve robbed every ice cream store from here to Atlas! Oh, no, I never thought you’d show up in my store!_

 

“You can’t be serious,” Valentine slapped his hand against his forehead. “The ‘Greene Gang?’ What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question, Valentine, and I’m not sure you want to know the answer,” Torchwick replied. “Care to clarify?”

“I’ve sat through this bullshit so far because it at least sounded like it had some small bit of reality in it- “

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“What did you just call me?”

Torchwick stared for a moment before shaking his head. Valentine could have sworn Torchwick heard him mutter a swear under his breath. “Never mind, go ahead.”

“Look. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt on the dust store robbery, if only because…” Valentine sighed. “…if only because it was pretty engaging, and that one speech by Cindy- “

“Cinder.”

“-that’s what I said, her speech was pretty damn rousing.” Torchwick beamed at that (a weird look for him, Valentine decided) before the producer held up a hand. “This Greene Gang crap, though, it just screams ‘made the hell up!’ It’s cheesy, it’s dumb, and it brings up a big question: Who the hell would name their kid Moolah?!”

Torchwick waited as Valentine panted, out of breath from the rant, as the mooks muttered and mumbled to each other. “…you done?” Torchwick asked, finally.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m done. I just…had to get that out.” Valentine’s eyes darted to Torchwick’s cane, watching the thief’s hand tighten around it. “…I’m dead now, aren’t I?”

“Not just yet, Valentine” Torchwick replied through gritted teeth. “After all, I still need you. But…let’s just say that the Greene Gang will be the least of your worries-if you keep this commentary up, that is.”

“What,” Valentine asked, “You want me to just shut up and let you spout nonsense? I’m a producer, kid-it’s not what we do. Money and status ride on everything we pick out. We can’t just sit back quietly and let creators run rampant. We wouldn’t make money that way-and I’m sure you, as an ‘entrepreneur’ damn well know that.”

There was silence for a moment. “I can respect your logic, Valentine, but please remember the situation you’re in right now.” Torchwick’s eyes narrowed as he lowered the brim of his hat. “I’ve gone through all this trouble to set this up for you, when I could have easily…well, I’ll let you imagine the specifics.” Valentine’s breath caught short as Torchwick let out a toothy grin. “As I’ve said before, this is all for your benefit. I’m offering you something unique here.”

“A-and what would that be?”

“Simple: a chance for you to get back up to the top of the game.”

Valentine rolled his eyes. “VCC is one of the most profitable studios in all of- “

“I don’t mean the studio, Valentine. I mean you.” Torchwick chuckled. “I’ve been doing my research, and boy, was it enlightening. Seems like everyone else in the industry sees you as a…hold on, let me get my notes.” Torchwick dug into his jacket, pulling out some crumpled paper balls. He unfolded them, flattening them and laying them on the table. “Let’s see here…’a pathetic wash-up,’ ‘an old geezer with no idea what he’s doing’…ooh, I quite like this one, ‘a self-aggrandizing blowhard with no talent and-oh, my, I should probably leave the rest of this out, it’s fairly inappropriate.”

Valentine stared down at the papers, reaching over the table and pulling them towards him. “Who said all that? This-this can’t be-”

“Oh, trust me, it’s true. I’ve even got names attached to each quote; I’m sure you’re familiar with how reviews look, however.” Valentine scoured the papers, finding all manner of insults and slings (along with a 5-star rating system, no doubt Torchwick’s addition. “We’ve got former employees, partners, exes, you name it. There’s a pretty common thread through all of these, Valentine-they all think you’re nothing. Less than nothing, even.” Valentine fell back into his seat, muttering quietly under his breath. “And that’s what I mean when I say this is to your benefit, Valentine.” Torchwick held his arms out wide. “I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime, a cinematic experience that will not just propel VCC to new heights…but you. Then again, going from rock bottom, you shouldn’t have much trouble either way.

“So, if you don’t mind,” he continued, sitting back down in his seat, “I’ll ask you to hold any and all comments about the veracity of the Greene Gang until the end of the pitch. That goes double for…well, anything else, really.” Torchwick clasped his hands together, leaning his head on them as he stared ahead at Valentine. “Sound good?”

Valentine had no response. He pushed Torchwick’s notes to the side and slowly opened the script back up.

“You’re learning,” Torchwick said. “Keep this up, and maybe we can actually finish this thing before we die of old age.”

_MOOLAH_

_Our reputation precedes us, then. You know what we want._

_Moolah rubs her fingers together._

_MOOLAH_

_Hand over the dough._

_Clerke reaches for the cookie dough ice cream. Moolah aims her gun._

_MOOLAH_

_Don’t get smart with me. I want the cash, and I want it-_

_ROMAN_

_(O.S.)_

_Now, now-_

_Roman walks into the parlor, flanked by some more of Junior's men._

_ROMAN_

_The man’s just getting what you asked for. What seems to be the issue?_

_The Greene Gang wheels around at the sight of Roman. While they’re distracted, Neo starts to slip behind them._

_MOOLAH_

_And who’re you supposed to be?_

_ROMAN_

_Oh, nobody special. Just someone looking for some ice cream._

_Roman smirks._

_ROMAN_

_I don’t suppose you’ll be finished with your order soon?_

_The rest of the gang draw their weapons, all colored green._

_MOOLAH_

_Buddy, I don’t know what you’re on, but if you think you can take us down, then bring it-_

_Suddenly, a table comes from off-screen and crashes into Moolah._

_GREEN GANG MINON 1_

_Boss!_

_Roman looks in the direction the table came from. Neo, sitting casually on a chair, twirls her umbrella with an innocent expression. Moolah groggily stands up, surrounded by bits of broken table._

_MOOLAH_

_Anyone get the number of the truck that-_

_Her comment is cut off by a chair to the face. The rest of the gang start to back towards the door. Neo holds up her umbrella._

_ROMAN_

_Kid, it’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors._

_Neo nods towards Roman, as if in agreement. She dashes towards the Gang, smacking each of them in turn with precise umbrella strikes, all while the umbrella itself remains closed._

_ROMAN_

_…ok, fair enough._

_With one final “thwack,” the last henchman goes down. Neo breathes a sigh of relief, then glances over at the counter. Clerke is cowering behind it._

_CLERKE_

_Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t-_

_Neo walks over, towards Roman, who offers simply-_

_ROMAN_

_Hi, Roman Torchwick. You are…_

_She walks past him, heading to the counter._

_ROMAN_

_Not very chatty. Ok, that’s fine. Thanks for the…uh…_

_He glances over at his entourage._

_ROMAN_

_Does it count as an assist if we didn’t get to do anything?_

_The his companions shrug in response._

_MOOK 6_

_Hey, at least no one died this time, right?_

_ROMAN_

_That's always optimal._

 

_Neo leans over the counter at the shivering Clerke. She points at the ice cream carton she was going for earlier. Clerke looks past her, seeing the knocked out Greene Gang._

_CLERKE_

_Kid, you can have the whole freaking thing!_

_Neo beams and picks up the carton from over the counter, grinning as she turns back around. Torchwick is holding up a spoon._

_TORCHWICK_

_Think you’ll be needing this?_

_Neo looks at the spoon, then to him, and then to the carton._

_INT. CINDER’S LAIR – DAY_

_Cut to Cinder’s hideout. Neo is digging into a carton of ice cream. She scoops up the last bit and tosses the carton away. It lands on a pile of other cartons. Roman watches, sitting backwards on a chair, rocking back and forth._

_ROMAN_

_Is gluttony supposed to be this amusing to watch?_

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_A growing girl has to eat, Roman._

_Cinder strolls by, Mercury and Emerald by her side. Torchwick waves with a jovial smirk._

_ROMAN_

_Well, if it isn’t the boss-lady! And…uh…_

_He looks over her two tag-alongs._

_ROMAN_

_…Mars and Sapphire, right?_

_MERCURY_

_Mercury and Emerald, Torchwick._

_ROMAN_

_Right, right…_

_Roman tugs on his collar nervously as he looks to Mercury._

_ROMAN_

_You’re Emerald, right?_

_Mercury makes to grab at Roman, but is held back by Emerald._

_EMERALD_

_Don’t mind him, Mr. Torchwick, sir, he’s just a bit on edge._

_ROMAN_

_I’ll say! He looks like death._

_MERCURY_

_(muttering)_

_Tukson thought that too._

_Roman blinks._

_ROMAN_

_Wait, what was that?_

_CINDER_

_Pay it no heed, Roman._

_Cinder sits down in a chair next to Roman._

_CINDER_

_I’m ready for that status report._

_ROMAN_

_Status report?_

_CINDER_

_Yes, on the dust delivery from the docks. The shipment didn’t have the whole amount we allocated-what happened there?_

_Roman pauses, putting a hand to his chin._

_ROMAN_

_Oh, yes…those docks. The docks with the dust. The docks for the ships that ship things. Those docks. That dust._

_CINDER_

_…Roman._

_ROMAN_

_Funny story about that._

_Emerald raises an eyebrow._

_EMERALD_

_What kind of funny?_

_ROMAN_

_Well…_

_FLASHBACK: EXT. DOCKS – DAY_

_Cut to a fog-filled dock, White Fang Faunus buzzing about loading dust onto a set of airships. Roman is speaking with the CAPTAIN SHIPPE (Old, anchor shirt, khaki shorts, eyepatch, cap), a wizened old seafarer who so graciously offered his whole warehouse district’s supply of dust to the cause._

_CAPTAIN_

_Aye, matey, this dust be all yours now. The paperwork were filed in triplicate, it was, all up and up._

_ROMAN_

_Thank you for your generosity, Captain Shippe._

_CAPTAIN_

_Please, Roman, we be friends. Call me…Captain._

_ROMAN_

_…that’s your first name?_

_CAPTAIN_

_Me parents, they were terrible people._

_A figure dashes through the fog. Roman’s eyes dart around._

_ROMAN_

_Captain, did you see that?_

_CAPTAIN_

_Is that a joke about my eyepatch?_

_ROMAN_

_Captain, I would never-_

_The figure appears behind Captain, what looks like a giant box-cutter at the ready._

_ROMAN_

_Look out!_

_Captain turns around and is slashed down by the blade, a spray of blood erupting over THE CATWOMAN (teenaged, black hair, cat ears, white shirt and black pants) as she stands with a maniacal grin._

_CATWOMAN_

_So sorry, sir, were you two talking? I didn’t mean to interrupt._

_A Faunus drops a box of dust on the ground in shock._

_FAUNUS 1_

_O-oh my word! It’s the Catwoman! She’s the most bloodthirsty Faunus alive-she betrayed us to work for the Huntresses!_

_CATWOMAN_

_Well, well, well…what have we here? The White Fang working for some filthy humans?_

_The Catwoman shakes her boxcutter, splattering blood over the pristine white concrete of the docks._

_CATWOMAN_

_This just won’t do. No, this won’t do at all._

_Her grin grows wider, toothier._

_CATWOMAN_

_Have you no dignity, my former comrades?_

_ROMAN_

_Don’t **you** work for a bunch of humans, Catwoman? _

_Roman raises his cane. The two begin to circle each other._

_ROMAN_

_Doesn’t that make you a hypocrite?_

_CATWOMAN_

_Someone’s only a hypocrite if they’re on the losing side, Mister…?_

_ROMAN_

_Torchwick. Roman Torchwick._

_CATWOMAN_

_You’ve got a fire burning in you, Torchwick…_

_She rushes at him-and yet, she stays in the same place. Roman blocks the second Catwoman’s blade with his cane, glancing over at the original._

_CATWOMAN_

_Time to snuff it out._

_The clone disappears, but another quickly takes its place. Roman blasts at the rapidly appearing and disappearing clones as the original ducks into the mist._

_ROMAN_

_Well, ok-_

_Roman smacks one of the clones with the cane, making it disappear. He jumps back._

_ROMAN_

_Well, at least it can’t get any worse than-_

_The fog begins to clear up, showing a group of Figures-Red, a MONKEY FAUNUS (blonde fur, half-open shirt, tail), and SWORDY (green skirt, tan blouse, lots of swords surrounding her). Roman blanches._

_ROMAN_

_Oh no._

INT. CINDER’S LAIR – DAY

_Roman shrugs._

_ROMAN_

_It didn’t exactly go as planned._

_Cinder sighs and shakes her head._

_CINDER_

_I understand, Roman, but we needed that dust._

_ROMAN_

_What’s it all for, anyway?_

_CINDER_

_Never you mind the details, Roman. I’ve got a different job for you; one that should go far more smoothly than the docks._

_ROMAN_

_And what’s that?_

_Cinder smiles._

_CINDER_

_Why, I want you to talk. Give a speech to some new recruits into the White Fang._

_ROMAN_

_Shouldn’t that be Adam’s job? He's in charge of them, right?_

_INT. ADAM’S ROOM – DAY_

_Cut to Adam in his bedroom. The room is covered with posters of the Catwoman, some with darts thrown into them and some with hearts drawn around them. Adam is sobbing into a pillow on his bed._

_ADAM_

_Why won’t you love me?!_

_INT. CINDER’S LAIR – DAY_

_CINDER_

_He’s preoccupied at the moment. Can I trust you with this?_

_Roman grins, thumping his chest with his fist._

_ROMAN_

_You can count on me!_

_INT. WHITE FANG WAREHOUSE – NIGHT_

_Cut to a warehouse owned by the White Fang. Roman is standing around, tapping his feet as he stares at a curtain. Behind him is a giant object shrouded in a sheet. Neo stands off to the side, absentmindedly twirling her umbrella. Roman glances over to her._

_ROMAN_

_So…exciting, huh?_

_Neo glances up at him, gives an "eh" gesture with her hand, and then looks back at her umbrella._

_ROMAN_

_…So, what made you decide to stay?_

_Neo shrugs, leaning on her umbrella._

_ROMAN_

_You got a grudge against the bigwigs?_

_Neo shakes her head._

_ROMAN_

_A vast and never-ending love of truth and justice?_

_Neo smirks in a “yeah, right” manner, shaking her head again._

_ROMAN_

_…is it because you’re bored?_

_Neo waves her hand again, in a “so-so” motion. Roman grimaces._

_ROMAN_

_…it’s the ice cream, isn’t it?_

_Neo nods rapidly. Roman lets out a laugh._

_ROMAN_

_Well, we all have our motivations-_

_Roman pauses as he sees Neo’s hand extended._

_ROMAN_

_What, do I look like the ice cream man to you?_

_Neo nods._

_ROMAN_

_…ask a stupid question, I suppose. I’m sorry, kid, but if you want ice cream-_

_Roman gestures with his thumb to a tiny freezer in the back of the stage._

_ROMAN_

_You’re going to have to get it yourself. Show’s about to start, and I’m already feeling cold feet-don’t want cold hands, too. No offense._

_Neo frowns, but offers an “I suppose” shrug. As she walks to the freezer, a WHITE FANG EMCEE walks up to Roman._

_EMCEE_

_You’re on in ten, Mr. Torchwick. Are you ready?_

_ROMAN_

_As I’ll ever be, I suppose. Ten minutes should be enough to-_

_EMCEE_

_That’s in seconds, RAISE THE CURTAIN!_

_ROMAN_

_Wait, what-_

_The curtain rises. A sea of masked White Fang soldiers lays before Roman. All is silent. Then-_

_RECRUIT 1_

_It’s a damn human!_

_The room descends into a cacophony of shouts and yells. Roman is terrified, backing up as he begins to speak._

_ROMAN_

_H-hello, everyone! Please, hold the applause until the end of the speech!_

_He chuckles, tugging at his collar._

_RECRUIT 2_

_What’s a human doing here?_

_RECRUIT 3_

_Those bastards don’t belong in the White Fang! They’re just a bunch of heartless monsters!_

_Roman looks over the angry crowd, shaken from their vehement hatred. He takes a deep breath. Then-_

_ROMAN_

_You’re all absolutely right!_

_The crowd falls silent. A spotlight shines on Roman as he begins to pace across the stage._

_ROMAN_

_Look, I get it. Humans are an awful, terrible species. Just look at us: we’ve kept you down. We’ve oppressed you. We’ve even killed some of you in the past. If I were you, I’d want my head on a pike too._

_RECRUIT 4_

_And on fire!_

_ROMAN_

_…ok, a bit much, but sure, fire makes everything better._

_Random members of the crowd chuckle a bit at that. Roman’s eyes widen, and a grin appears on his face._

_ROMAN_

_Actually, I’m being rather serious, my friends. Fire does make everything better._

_The crowd murmurs confusedly as Roman stretches his arms out wide._

_ROMAN_

_Not any physical fire, no-the fire that burns within all of you. The fire that burns within me. The flame that ignites the souls of all those who stand here today. The flame…of freedom!_

_Roman taps his cane down._

_ROMAN_

_Look at all of us! We are all of different species, different viewpoints, different backgrounds. But we all have one thing in common-something is keeping our noses to the dirt._

_Roman points his cane skyward._

_ROMAN_

_-That would be the scumbags we call “the powerful.” Some call them the government. Some call them the rich. Some call them the talented, the skilled-the lucky ones. The powerful are the ones who have everything handed to them on a silver platter, while we’re left hunting for scraps in the trash. Trust me, I’ve been there before._

_The crowd stares on, enraptured._

_ROMAN_

_The powerful are those who let those without power die, simply because it would be inconvenient for them to help. The powerful left me a penniless orphan on the streets of Vale, scrounging for every meal I had. The powerful left me at the mercy of bullies, both young and old. The powerful-_

He pauses, choking up. Tears begin to stream from his eyes as flashes of Norm’s death play out in his mind. Suddenly, a hand is on his shoulder-Neo’s. She merely nods at him.

_Roman takes a deep breath. He walks over to the shrouded object as he talks._

_ROMAN_

_The powerful took away everything I had. Or rather, their agents did. The hunters, the huntresses, the headmasters…all willing pawns in this game of chess we call life. And those who call themselves a Council see fit to rig the game against us, to turn us into pawns as well for their own sinister deeds. Thing is, they forgot the most important rule of the game. If a pawn manages to make it to the end of the board without getting offed-_

_Roman pulls down the sheet, revealing a massive robotic suit of armor, with the White Fang emblem loud and clear._

_ROMAN_

_They can get one hell of a promotion._

_The crowd goes wild as Roman continues._

_ROMAN_

_Our benefactor has seen fit to take the enemy’s weaponry-in this case, a shiny new Atlas mobile suit-and repurpose it for a grander cause: our own! The cause of justice! The cause of righteousness! The cause…of freedom!_

_Roman grins wide._

_ROMAN_

_After all, even pawns can put the king into checkmate. Now, who’s ready to start the game?_

_The throng of White Fang recruits begin to rush the stage.  
_

_ROMAN_

_Now, now, ladies and gentlemen, there’s plenty of room for everyone here!_

_CATWOMAN_

_(O.S.)_

_How about us?_

_Roman turns his head at the voice, cringing at its familiarity._

_ROMAN_

_Oh, you have got to be kidding me with this-_

_The Catwoman appears directly before him, grin manic, weapon drawn._

_ROMAN_

_-shit!_

_Roman jumps back as the Catwoman swipes, stumbling for a moment before falling into someone’s arms._

_ROMAN_

_Thanks for the save-_

_Arms wrap around Roman’s shoulders. Roman looks up and sees the Monkey from the docks, smirking. Suddenly, there’s a loud “thwack!” The Monkey’s eyes glaze over, and his arms go limp, as Neo taps her umbrella into her open palm, much like a cop with a baton._

_ROMAN_

_Neo!_

_Neo steps up to face against the Catwoman, who readies her own blades. Roman watches in horror as the White Fang panic, scrambling to get away. Roman glances at the robot, then back to Neo._

_ROMAN_

_You hold her off! I’ll make an exit for the Fang!_

_Neo nods, smirking at the Catwoman. She offers a short bow, which her opponent does not return. Rather, the Catwoman dashes towards Neo, slicing at her with her blades. Neo shatters like glass into a million pieces._

_CATWOMAN_

_What the-_

_Neo appears from behind her, slashing at her. The Catwoman dodges, and as she looks up she sees the glint of a long, thin blade that Neo wields. Neo smirks, shining the blade to show the Catwoman’s reflection._

_Roman climbs up on top of the robot, pressing buttons on the sides at random._

_ROMAN_

_Come on, come on! One of you has to open the-_

_After pressing a button on the side, the pilot’s hatch opens up._

_ROMAN_

_That’s what I’m talking about!_

_Roman hops into the robot, the hatch closing as the systems turn on. Roman grabs hold of the steering mechanism._

_ROMAN_

_No need to panic, Roman, it’s just like driving a car. A giant car. With guns. And two legs. And hundreds of lives on the line. No biggie._

_The robot aims its weapons at the nearest wall._

_ROMAN_

_Here goes everything!_

_Roman presses the trigger. A missile shoots out of the robot, zipping past Neo and the Catwoman (currently mid-duel) and hitting a wall, creating a gigantic hole._

_ROMAN_

_Everyone, move!_

_The White Fang members begin to rush out. The Catwoman notices, ducking under a swipe from Neo. She kicks Neo, who shatters once more before appearing from above. The Catwoman dashes forward, racing towards the White Fang._

_CATWOMAN_

_You’re all weak, pathetic little worms! I’ll crush you like I should’ve crushed Ad-_

_ROMAN_

_Whoa, there, kitty cat!_

_The robot’s hand grabs the Catwoman before she can go ahead, pulling her up to the cockpit’s height._

_ROMAN_

_You and I are going to have to talk about your anger management issues._

_CATWOMAN_

_That’s your big one-liner? Really?_

_ROMAN_

_Hm. You may have a point there. Neo, we all clear?_

_Neo gives a thumbs up as the last White Fang member makes it out of the building._

_ROMAN_

_Excellent. Catwoman, I’ll give you this: talk is cheap._

_Roman winds the robot’s arm back._

_ROMAN_

_But actions are worth a thousand words!_

Roman hurls the Catwoman through the wall (creating a second hole) and immediately gives chase after the Faunus projectile.

_EXT. HIGHWAY – NIGHT_

_The Catwoman-quickly regaining her balance-soars across a dark highway, Roman speeding after her in the robot. The robot shakes, slightly, as Roman spots a flash of yellow-Monkey-hopping off the top of the cockpit. The two attack anything in their way-cars spin out, attempting to dodge; pieces of concrete fly up into the air._

_The robot shakes once more. There’s a knock on top of the cockpit. Roman looks up. Neo is sitting on top of the windshield, gesturing at something._

_ROMAN_

_Uh, Neo, can you hold tight for two seconds? I can’t open-_

_Neo points ahead. Roman glances forward and sees a figure in WHITE (teenaged, white hair in a ponytail, white shirt, whiter than a polar bear in a snowstorm)._

_ROMAN_

_…this was a trap, wasn’t it?_

_Neo nods. WHITE raises a sword, and slams it into the ground._

_ROMAN_

_Oh, this is going to suck, isn’t it?_

_Neo nods. From the sword, a sheet of ice erupts, covering the road ahead. Warning lights erupt in the cockpit. Roman slams on the brakes, but the robot has too much momentum to stop._

_ROMAN_

_Crap! Neo, you have to ju-_

_He blinks. Neo is already to the side, hovering in the air with her umbrella. She offers a wave._

_ROMAN_

_You little sh-_

_The robot reaches the ice, skidding sideways and performing a spin a figure skater would be jealous of._

_ROMAN_

_-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-_

_The robot flings off the highway. Time seems to slow down as Roman frantically messes with the controls._

_ROMAN_

_Please let this work!_

_He pulls on a lever. The robot, mid-fall, flips itself upright and lands on the city streets below. The concrete and stone shatter as the robot’s feet make impact. Roman shakes a bit in the cockpit._

_All is silent._

_…then, there’s a sound. A hissing noise. Suddenly, white mist envelops the area, shrouding everything in a dense fog. Roman looks around, slowly, as the robot’s laser targeting systems activate. He hears footsteps coming from all directions._

_A gunshot rings out, and Roman wheels the robot in its direction. Red is upon him in an instant, her scythe slashing through the robot’s left arm. The warning sirens grow louder as Roman stumbles._

_ROMAN_

_What the-_

_In a panic, Roman slams down a button on the console. From the remaining arm, a pocket opens up, revealing a mini missile silo. The missiles fire in all directions, both slamming into the ground and soaring through the air._

_Roman backs up, but the robot wobbles. He glances at one of the cockpit cameras-the Catwoman has tied up the robot’s legs. She grins, watching the missiles go out of control and hit every building in sight. The robot stumbles into a wall, Roman doing all he can to unchain himself._

_Finally, one of the legs breaks free. However, it appears to kick a nearby civilian, a woman with hair of GOLD (17, bomber jacket, aviator shades) into a wall. She slides down the wall, conscious, but looking worse for wear. Roman gasps in horror._

_The robot kneels down, extending a hand._

_ROMAN_

_(O.S.)_

_Miss, are you alright? I’m so sorry! These lunatics-they were trying to-look, it doesn’t matter._

_Roman moves the hand closer to Gold, who climbs into it, a hand on her head. Roman, in the cockpit, breathes a sigh of relief._

_ROMAN_

_Come on, Miss-_

_He brings the hand up, bringing her close to the cockpit._

_ROMAN_

_I’ll get you out of here!_

_From the cockpit’s camera, Roman can see a strand of hair fall from Gold’s head-and a sinister grin forming on her face._

_ROMAN_

_Oh no._

_Gold jumps up as gigantic ice shards freeze the robot’s arms and legs in place. Roman tries in vain to make the robot move, but it’s no use. Gold winds up her arm, and a pair of knuckledusters on her hands start to glow._

_Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering erupts all around Roman, and shards of the cockpit fall on top of him. Roman flinches, covering his face from the glass. An arm grabs him and yanks him out of the cockpit, right as Gold slams her fist into its outer shell. The cockpit caves in on itself under the pressure of Gold’s fist._

_Roman moves his hands away from his face, spotting a tell-tale umbrella above him. Neo is holding onto him, the two lowering to the ground.  
_

_ROMAN_

_Thanks for the save and all, Neo, but now we’re just out of the frying pan and into the fire. What do we do now?_

_Neo points upwards. An airship is lurking, just out of sight, with Cinder at the helm._

_ROMAN_

_You know what, we’ll roll with it._

_The four Huntresses-Red, White, Gold, and the Catwoman-stare down Roman and Neo as the robot begins to explode behind them. Monkey attempts to follow suit, but trips over his own tail and lands on his face._

_ROMAN_

_As much as I’d love to stay and chat with you lovely people about just how many laws you broke in the past ten minutes, I believe it’s time we end this before you cause even more property damage._

_RED_

_You think you can just get away from us, Torchlit?_

_ROMAN_

_It's Torchwick! And I don’t just think I can-I have to, if anyone is to know of the cruelty and horrors you’ve inflicted on countless innocents tonight!_

_White laughs, holding a hand up to her mouth as she does._

_WHITE_

_Oh, that’s rich! Everyone knows that the only ones who can say they’re innocent are the ones with an alibi!_

_Gold grins, cracking her knuckles._

_GOLD_

_Remind us, which one of us has the giant robot?_

_The Catwoman sneers at Roman._

_CATWOMAN_

_You know you’re just going to lose again, just like at the docks. Why even bother running away?_

_ROMAN_

_I’m not running away from anything…I’m running towards the future of freedom!_

_He tips his hat towards the four, then gestures to Neo._

_ROMAN_

_Neo, if you would!_

_Neo takes a bow towards the Huntresses, and then creates an illusion of the two. A ladder drops down from the airship above them, which they quickly grab onto. They fade into the mist as the four huntresses leap onto the illusion, shattering it. The four glare upwards, and then down to Monkey, who offers a sheepish grin in response._

_CATWOMAN_

_You’re a disgrace._

_MONKEY_

_Come on! The pink girl hit me really hard!_

_INT. AIRSHIP – NIGHT_

_Roman and Neo crawl into the airship. Cinder is there, arms crossed. Emerald and Mercury are in the airship’s pilot’s seats. Cinder, unusually, has a scowl on her face._

_CINDER_

_…so, how did the speech go?_

_ROMAN_

_Oh, very well, up until we had a bit of an…interruption._

_Mercury scoffs from his seat._

_MERCURY_

_I’d call that “property damage,” genius._

_EMERALD_

_Mercury! For shame. You know “collateral damage” fits better._

_MERCURY_

_How about “brain damage?”_

_Both turn their heads temporarily to glare at Roman._

_EMERALD_

_I’d go with “damage to our reputation, you incompetent dumbass,” but I suppose that’s shorter._

_Roman’s eyes widen, his heart aching from these unjust claims. He looks over at Cinder, who merely lets out a sigh._

_CINDER_

_Roman, I asked for one thing: a speech. What you got us was the 10:00 story on the nightly news._

_She shakes her head, a wistful smile on her face._

_CINDER_

_I understand that you have a personal grudge against these Huntresses-we all do. But there’s a time and a place for action. In the middle of a recruitment drive was not one of those. You should have let the Fang escape, then returned to base. What did you do instead?_

_Her eyes narrow, and both Roman and Neo take a step back at this._

_CINDER_

_You made yourself the #1 most wanted vigilante in all of Vale._

_Roman sputters, his eyes darting between the gazes boring into him._

_ROMAN_

_But…how?! How could anyone know it was me in the robot?_

_Mercury laughs._

_MERCURY_

_I got the answer to this one, Torchy. You were sloppy. You think people didn’t hear about the moron in the white suit and the brat with the punk-rock hair beating the shit out of some thugs in an ice cream shop?_

_Neo bristles, making to move forward before being stopped by Roman. Emerald leans back in her seat._

_EMERALD_

_You think that the giant robot racing down the highway wouldn’t attract any traffic copters? Did you forget that people have scrolls, with video cameras? Did you forget that you gave the Huntresses_ **_your name?!_ **

_CINDER_

_You’ve made yourself a known entity, and those Hunters and Huntresses have ammo to make you out to be some kind of master criminal. We can’t be seen with you-not just yet. It’s far too risky._

_ROMAN_

_Then what am I supposed to do?!_

_CINDER_

_Simple. You go underground._

_The airship begins to descend, and through the windshield, Roman can see the clouds give way to:_

_INT. MOUNTAIN GLENN – NIGHT_

_A vast, desolate wasteland of a city lays before the ship’s crew. The surface is swarming with Grimm of all shapes and sizes._

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_Welcome to Mountain Glenn._

_Roman stares in horror._

_ROMAN_

_Mountain Glenn!? Isn’t this the city that the Grimm overtook-_

_MERCURY_

_(O.S.)_

_-and then thousands of people died because-_

_Mercury pushes back in his seat, letting go of the airship’s steering._

_AIRSHIP_

_Autolanding engaged._

_MERCURY_

_-the Hunters and Huntresses of Vale left them behind, we all know the story._

_EMERALD_

_Here’s the part you didn’t hear._

_Emerald presses some buttons, and a map appears on the windshield._

_EMERALD_

_Before the town was overtaken, the citizens set up a train system to get to Vale itself. The entry way was closed off during the town’s final days…until we got here._

_The airship lowers onto a landing pad, clear of Grimm._

_CINDER_

_(O.S.)_

_We plan to eradicate the Grimm and restore the town to what it once was._

_Cinder walks towards the airship door._

_CINDER_

_It will be our base of operations, as well as a home for anyone who fights for the cause of freedom and justice for all. That’s where you come in, Roman._

_Cinder opens the door, the cold night air causing Roman to shiver. Cinder puts a hand on Roman’s shoulder._

_CINDER_

_I’m giving you one more chance to make things right._ _Help the Fang members here with the reconstruction. Eliminate any Grimm that could come to harm them. Most importantly-_

_Her grip tightens, and her tone becomes icy._

_CINDER_

_Lay. Low._

_ROMAN_

_Right…and what will you be doing, Boss?_

_CINDER_

_We’ll be doing a little…reconnaissance at Beacon Academy. We won’t be contacting you for quite some time. For the time being, you’re in charge of Mountain Glenn. Try not to disappoint this time._

_Roman flinches at that remark, but nods. He gives a friendly salute to the others on the ship. Neo merely stares on. Emerald gives a half-hearted wave. Mercury raises his middle finger, which is quickly slapped down by Emerald. Roman steps out onto the landing pad._

_EXT. LANDING PAD – NIGHT_

_Roman rubs his shoulders as the cold air whips his coat._

_ROMAN_

_“It’ll keep you nice and toasty,” Junior said. Last time I buy anything off of-_

_A small “thud” noise interrupts his thoughts. Something taps his shoulder. Roman turns around and sees Neo, umbrella in hand, standing behind him. The airship launches off the ground, vanishing into the clouds within moments._

_ROMAN_

_Let me guess. Cinder asked you to keep an eye on me._

_Neo shakes her head. Roman blinks._

_ROMAN_

_…do…you actually care about my well-being?_

_Neo, once more, shakes her head. Roman frowns._

_ROMAN_

_You’re just hoping this place has ice cream, aren’t you?_

_Neo grins. Roman sighs, and glances at a nearby elevator._

_ROMAN_

_Well…guess there’s nowhere else to go but down. Still, this isn’t too bad._

_The two enter the elevator. As the doors close, Roman asks-_

_ROMAN_

_I mean, after tonight, what the hell else could go wrong?_

_The doors close._

_END ACT 2.  
_

A loud cheer erupted from the table when Roman finished speaking. A couple of his henchmen were openly weeping, some were hugging, and one was muttering something about how he wanted more robots. Valentine, for his part, clutched his script like it was a life raft. His hands were still trembling as Roman glanced over.

“What’s your deal, Valentine?” Torchwick asked. “Are you still hung up on the whole “reviews” thing, because honestly, you should really have thicker skin than- “

“That was beautiful.”

“…come again?” Torchwick leaned over the table. “I don’t think I heard you right. You said it was- “

“Beautiful, Torchwick.” Valentine wiped his eyes, sniffling slightly as he set the script down. “I haven’t seen anything like that since…hell, since my own, back in the day. _Sunlight Over Vale_ , I think it was. Or maybe _The Good, The Bad, and The Atlesian._ ”

“Bwha?” Torchwick seemed at a loss for words, a bewildered expression glued to his face. Even Neo appeared shocked, her eyes wide as she looked from the script to Torchwick, and then to Valentine with a dumbfounded stare. “You’re…you’re serious.”

“Hell yes, I’m serious!” Valentine stood up from his chair, the seat clattering to the ground in his haste. "Look, I ain't gonna lie: I came in biased as hell with this whole thing. Once this..."read" was all done, I was gonna tell you to go to hell, and maybe see if security finally realized I was gone, y'know?" Torchwick's eyes narrowed, but Valentine held out a hand. "Not done yet." He sighed, scratching the back of his head as he looked down at the "reviews" that Torchwick placed earlier. "It didn't exactly help when you decided to play armchair psychologist with me over something so blatantly bullshit." 

"Oh, please don't start about the Greene Gang again."  
  
"Fine, fine," Valentine grumbled. "Look, though-this shit got to me. You know what got to me more, though?" Torchwick shook his head. Valentine grinned, waving his script like it was an extra finger. "The speech. The chase scene. The action, the suspense, the sheer...cinematics of it all!"

"I don't think that's a word."

"Shut up." Valentine sat back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling. "Look. When I started in the film industry, I wanted to see the passion that creators could bring to the table, the sheer heart in their words and the fire in their souls! And this speech-this whole act-it has those in spades! Forget the crap with the Greene Gang, forget the bullshit with the taxi and the bar and all that nonsense that came before." Valentine flipped to the middle of Act 2 in his script, jabbing at the White Fang speech with his finger. "This is the heart of your story, Torchwick! This is what VCC has been looking for-what I’ve been looking for!” Valentine slammed the script down onto the table like an over-dramatic lawyer with legal documents. “I’d stake my career on this scene alone, even if the rest of this script is a hot mess-and you know damn well that it is," he added.

“…you are…surprisingly chipper for someone who just had his worldview shattered about fifteen minutes ago,” Roman noted, reaching for a water bottle. Opening it up, he admitted, “I kind of figured you’d be dead inside after reading all of those comments about- “

“Fuck ‘em.”

“…pardon?”

“Fuck ‘em all," Valentine repeated. "Look, I do care about what these guys say, but let’s be real here: I don't care **_that_ ** much. They're stuck in their humdrum lives, and I've got...whatever the fuck this whole situation is. More interesting than my usual Saturday nights at least." Valentine picked up one of the papers Torchwick handed him earlier. He ripped it apart, proceeding to do the same with the rest of the “reviews.” The mooks at the table all looked at each other in confusion, but Roman took grand prize in the “did not see this coming” expression competition. His face was stuck in a wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare. “You said it yourself," Valentine muttered, "This is for my benefit.” As scraps of paper fell to the table, Valentine’s grin bordered on maniacal. Roman scooched his chair back just a tad. “I guess we both don’t give a damn what critics have to say. I gotta say, for as much of an asshole as you are- “Torchwick bristled at that remark. “-I can respect that. You reminded me ‘o something today, Torchwick. It ain’t about the critics-it’s about the artists. It's about the work we do. And most importantly...” He chuckled for a moment. "It's about filling those seats-and this script is guaranteed to do that."

“…well…thank you? You’re welcome? I suppose?” Torchwick slowly flipped through his script, glancing through the pages. “We've still got one more act to go, though."

“Then lay it on me!” Valentine picked up his script. “Don’t leave us in suspense-what happens next?”

Torchwick’s face slowly melted into its usual bravado. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

The master criminal opened his script again, just barely missing the sinister smile that the movie mogul's grin had become.


End file.
